


Devil's Game

by SmallStranger



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Infidelity, Suspense, Victorian era, affair, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-10-29 13:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10855326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallStranger/pseuds/SmallStranger
Summary: "The devil was the most beautiful man I’ve ever known. And if I could, I’d still play his game all over again."What more could you possibly ask? With a doting husband, two brats you can't help but love, a position worthy of respect, and enough wealth to last for generations, you could very damn well settle down and live your life to its fullest. Luxury, love, and authority, there was nothing more than you needed. At least that's what you thought.Till you met him.Till he somehow changed everything.And in the end, even if you have everything you need, you can't help but ask for more.





	1. Prologue

        They always say the devil was dressed in red, a pitchfork in hand, with a pointed tail that flicked like a whip and bull-like horns that gleamed in the flames of Hell. Or maybe you see him as a beast; feral, dangerous, with crazed eyes that could make you go on your knees in fear. Or perhaps you have Dante’s Satan in mind if you are akin to _Inferno_ , the three faced demon that chews on the most famous traitors of history. Either way the devil always goads you to the life of sin, standing in front of you with his wicked smile as he leads you the way. That’s what they always say, correct?

        Well frankly I digress.

        The devil wasn’t hideous, wasn’t a beast, wasn’t even grotesque. He was all you needed, all you longed, all you didn’t even know you wanted. He was addiction and euphoria all in one, pleasure and sensuality that went beyond the best. He’s perfect because he is temptation, because he is desire, and because he was the finest of the Lord’s angels. He didn’t stand in front of you and goad you to being damned. He lingers beside you, whispering in your ear with his velvet tongue all you wanted to hear, all you desired to hear.

        Gently he holds you at his side and caresses you, murmuring to you how unfair the world was and that you deserved more than that they offered. He doesn’t command you. He guides you to your destruction, making sure that you never look back. Then once he decides to let you go, he leaves you where you are, broken, dirty, and maddened by your path. And he just laughs, laughs at your wails of despair, laughs at how even without him you break yourself even more. Till finally you’re back in his arms, back in an embrace that kills you and rejuvenates you at the same time. And maybe you’ll fight him, maybe you’ll still love him, maybe you’ll still blame him for everything that he’d done. In the end all he’ll do is smile and laugh and whisper a mocking, _“Welcome back.”_

        Of course, maybe I’m biased; maybe in the end you won’t end up in his arms, maybe you can be rescued. How strange… seeing the blinding light instead of feeling the heat of the flames. What a cute thought. But can you still really be saved when you let the devil lead the way? More importantly, can you really stop yourself from joining his game?

        The devil was the most beautiful man I’ve ever known. And if I could, I’d still play his game all over again.


	2. Chapter One

        You never thought a ball such as this could buzz with so much excitement. Women dressed in rich dresses giggled among themselves as they entered the manor while men commented rather loudly their praises for the elegant grandeur of the event. Even the carriage drivers, who were not even remotely allowed to enter the party (Lord that would be a scandal), couldn’t help but slow down from their drive and stare with awe. It was splendid, with the finest of Great Britain’s nobles and gentry attending the so called “most anticipated ball of the Season”. And the fact that Earl Phantomhive was the one hosting the ball had sent every socialite screeching and wailing for an invitation.

        Luckily for you, your husband was an old friend of Marquis Alexis Midford, whose daughter apparently was betrothed to the young noble, so obtaining an invitation was an easy task. So there you were, your hand gently resting on your husband’s arm as you kept your [e/c] orbs trained on a bubbling girl you called your daughter.

        “You’re quite tense tonight aren’t you, [Y/N] love?” a low voice asked, amused.

        You felt your back stiffen before the meaning of the sentence rolled in, making you relax. “I am not tense, Jacob. Where did you get such a silly idea?” you answered, barely looking up. Deep, warm laughter met your ears and rolling your eyes, you turned around.

        “But you are, love.” Jacob chuckled. He smiled, the subtle wrinkles in his eyes crinkling with his grin. “You’ve been staring at Dottie for the last few minutes.”

        Your lips curled into a smile and you looked up your husband fondly. “How couldn’t I? She looks like she’s ready to run up the stairs and find the young earl, probably scold him as well for taking so long.”

        Well… that was perhaps an exaggeration. Your daughter, Dorothy, who would rather go by Dottie, was definitely bold enough to scold the host but you highly doubted that she would run up the stairs. She didn’t like running that much.

        This time Jacob’s laugh came out louder, garnering a few odd glances from the people around the foyer. You chuckled and with a flick of your wrist, opened the wooden fan in your hand, successfully covering your grin. You were glad that you could still make your husband laugh, even though the situation was rather inappropriate now. There was always the small sense of pride of being able to entertain people. It was a charm after all, and a gift; being able to captivate any person.

        “What is so amusing, father?”

        Surprised, you turned your head, only to meet identical [e/c] eyes peering at you two curiously. Dottie was decked in a beautiful blue dress, the gown trimmed with white lace and accentuated with lighter shades of blue. Her brown hair tumbled down her shoulders in a cascade of waves while a white barrette handled her fringe. It still startled you that the girl standing in front of you was the spitting image of you, more or less.

        A soft call jolted you out your musing. “Mother what is father laughing about?” Dottie asked, this time with a hint of impatience.

       “Ah well, your mother was simply giving an example of your impatience,” Jacob explained, chuckling, “Something about how you will lecture the earl about making the guests wait.” In an instant, Dottie flushed red and started stuttering incoherently. As for you…

        You glared at your spouse and smacked his arm with your fan, earning a small groan of pain in response. “Quiet Jacob, lest they hear you,” you hissed, all the while pouting internally.

        “Why am I cursed to be in the presence of such violent women?” Jacob complained, rubbing the spot where you had hit him. This time he was hit by two fans. “Ouch! Honestly Dottie, you are becoming more and more like your mother as you grow. And since when have you ever carried a fan?”

        “Ever since last summer, father,” Dottie retorted. She scowled before turning around to face the crowd. Her face broke out into a grin. “Mother, Father, Lizzie is there! May I…?” Her voice trailed and she turned to look at you two hopefully.

        You nodded your head and the brunette started skipping towards her best friend, not before mouthing a small thank you. Smiling, you shook your head, watching her go. You couldn’t exactly hear what the two girls were talking about but judging from the way the Midford daughter had held up Dottie’s skirt, they were talking about dresses.

        “She really resembles you doesn’t she?” Jacob murmured. The soft tone of his voice sent you internally cooing and you had to remind yourself now was not the time to muse on the gentleness of your husband. “In fact, she even has the same amount of force as you when you hit a person.” That elicited a chuckle in reply.

        “I am not that violent though, dear,” you countered before smirking, “Well not so blatantly violent.”

        “I do hope she grows up like you, [Y/N].” His grey-blue eyes shone and a huge grin was splayed across his face. He turned to you, gripping your hand. “She would be a lovely lady, an absolutely amazing person, don’t you think?” Jacob asked and he lifted your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles lightly.

        You smiled at the old gesture. It was one he had commonly done after the two of you were trusted enough to be alone without chaperone and up to know made it a point to do every so and then.

        Shaking your head, you pulled away your hand, still smiling. “I think the ball is starting.” You nodded your head towards the large, double doors which you could now see were slowly swinging open. Immediately, the crowd of guests, be it early arrivers or those that have just arrived, snapped their attention towards the door and once fully opened, started swarming in.

        “You’re right, love,” your husband straightened up and offered you his arm. “Though shall we wait for the crowd to diminish before we enter?” He asked.

        Frowning, you brushed away a stray strand of hair and gazed at the crowd once more. A tall raven haired man stood by the ballroom door and seemed to be tasked with the unfortunate work of handling the crowd. You stared at the tall male for a few seconds, slightly captivated by his gestures, before shaking your head.

        “Yes… that sounds like a better idea,” you agreed. With a smile you turned away from the man.

*****

        Letting out a small groan, you tried to collapse as gracefully as you could on the couch. Honestly, are people that eager to attend some dainty child’s party? You had waited for so long that you’re feet were already sore from standing up in these godforsaken heels. And the added fact that you had to directly dance the waltz afterwards did not help.

 _‘        Then again, you also wanted to attend this party,’_ you thought dryly. _‘A party held by some brat! Oh how low you have fallen, [Y/N].’_

        You sighed once more, letting your gaze drift towards the crowd of dancers. Already the orchestra had started the opening notes for another dance, sending the participants into a quadrille[1]. You watched for a few moments, taking note of the graceful turns, the perfect-like swish of the gown, the movements that seemed so easy and light. Back when you were younger you would have thought of it as a captivating sight but now the flaws of each dancer’s motions stood out to you like a stain on a silk curtain.

 _‘She’s holding herself weakly,’_ you critiqued, looking at a woman dressed in a lavender gown. _‘And he’s taking very large steps though I suppose it’s excusable,’_ you thought, referring to a young lad to your right. He was subtly clumsy—if that was even possible—and kept looking at the ground as he danced. As if sensing your glance, he looked up, catching upon your gaze, and immediately turned pink, making you chuckle.

        “Would the lady care to humor a gentleman for a dance?”

        You jumped. Jacob emerged from your side, smiling, and tapped your cheek. “I jest of course. Unless you really would want to participate in the next dance then I’ll humor you.”

        You rolled your eyes. “Probably after the dance after this,” you answered reluctantly. “I’m assuming that’s the dance card?” You pointed at the cards he held.

         “Correct.” Jacob nodded and he handed one to you. His smile turned sly and innocently he asked, “Shall I jot you down for all dances?”

        “Don’t be ridiculous, Jacob,” you replied and found yourself rolling your eyes once more. Well your husband does that to you, you suppose. “You know it is improper to dance with only one partner.” He huffed, earning another eye roll.

        “It’s ridiculous don’t you think? What if some poor fellow out there is terrified of women in sixteen inches waist and pale complexions?”

        “You’re exaggerating, don’t you think?” You pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “And stop excusing yourself as a ‘poor fellow’ I know perfectly well it is you.”

        “I’m not joking [Y/N]. I’m terrified that I might break their backs.”

        “Oh please you’re more likely to break necks than backs,” you retorted and scanned the people milling on the side. After a few minutes, your eyes lit up and your hand gestured to a woman a bit to your left, one you vaguely recognized. “Why not you ask her to dance with you after this?”

         Jacob arched a brow and gave you a disbelieving look. “You want me to dance with Thomas’s wife?”

        “I actually don’t remember who Thomas is,” you confessed. He rolled his eyes.

        “He’s the one who thought you looked silly in that [f/c] gown,” your husband informed. He studied the woman with slight interest, looking her up and down. “Yes… well I’m sure Mary will just stand there while I try and break her neck. Fine I’ll go ask her, love. _Au revoir_.” With a grin he walked off, his black tailcoat trailing behind.

        You sighed, laughing softly. Typical Jacob. How in the world you ended up betrothed—and eventually wedded—to that man you had no idea. It was a match your father had set up even before you were born, decided over a cup of Earl Gray and treacle tarts with a side dash of gin. Still, despite the questionable circumstance, you can't say you didn't like your match. Jacob proved to be a doting partner ever since you first met him and he never failed to pay attention to you or your two children.

        “My, why is a lovely lady such as yourself a wallflower at this ball?”

        You squeaked at the sudden question, some supernatural force sending you into a tense, rigid position. The speaker chuckled, breaking you from your surprise and instead replacing it with a rush of embarrassment. You scowled and turned around, determined to snap back some biting remark, still blushing.

        “Begging your pardon, sir?” you asked angrily. Your voice faltered and you stared wide-eyed at the man in front of you. His lips were curled into a small, playful smirk, his startling auburn eyes regarding you with the smallest hint of amusement. He was looming over you, his tall, lean figure blocking out the lights above your head. His black hair was long for such a man but added a rakish charm that absolutely complimented his pale face. God forgive you but this man was _handsome_. Bloody handsome.

        “Ah, have I offended you?” The male blinked and gave you a charming smile. “My apologies milady, I did not mean to be so rude.”

         “A-Are you the floor manager?” you stammered and mentally stabbed yourself. _‘Compose yourself [Y/N]!_ _Good Lord, you won’t be leaving with your dignity at this rate,’_ you scolded and with a flick of your wrist opened your fan, hoping to be able to conceal your face.

        The man hummed and straightened up, his eyes scanning the ballroom. “I suppose you could call it that. I have been trusted to make sure the night won’t be lonely for a lady, shy or not.”

 _'Yes, that means you are the floor manager,'_ you thought, mentally rolling your eyes.

        “You are wrong in doing it then sir.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking up to meet the dark haired man’s eyes. “You are suppose to send a gentleman to ask me to dance,” you corrected.

        “But what if the lady is simply tired?” he asked, smirking and to your surprise found yourself laughing.

        “Still, etiquette says we are in no position to refuse,” you pointed out. You couldn’t help but smile. This man was charming, effortlessly charming, and you found yourself liking him the longer you talked to him.

        “Unless she has already accepted another gentleman’s offer,” he retaliated, his tone amused. He arched a brow and flashed you a quizzical look. “If I may ask, why has the lady retired quite so early?”

        “The lady had been tired out by dancing the first waltz,” you answered ruefully, “As well as waiting for the crowd to disperse earlier.”

        “Already?” You gave a slight glare at the statement, making the stranger chuckle. “Then I am assuming you have already been taken for the _Écossaise_ , milady?”

        “No.” You glanced at the dance card in your hands where you have been unconsciously been playing with the tassel. It was a tasteful thing, red and gold complementing the thick white paper than made up the dance card. “My husband had just given me the dance card, I haven’t written anyone down yet.” You nodded towards where your husband was, the male’s gaze following you.

        “Ah, the Baron Aston.” He hummed. “Along with Lady Cartwright.”

        You nodded. “Yes, he is dancing with his friend’s wife.” You sucked in a breath, a sudden fury building up your chest and your grip on your fan tightened. Why you were angry you had no idea but seeing him leave you alone to dance with another sent you raging. Rushing out before he can even make sure you had a partner, the nerve! You must have looked pitiable to the other spectators and you felt your pride severely wounded. Oh please, you weren’t a lonely woman and you were fully capable of ensnaring a man. You kept your eyes on the couple, hearing the slight crack of your wooden fan. Insulting…

        “How about you dance with me in the _Écossaise_ [2], sir?” you asked, surprised at your boldness. Before you could regret it you turned around, repeating the question in a much louder voice. “Will you dance with me in the next sequence, sir?”

        For a moment, a flicker of surprise passed through the man’s pale face before it quickly faded, replaced with a smile. “I apologize milady but… it would be improper for the Baroness Aston to be seen dancing with a mere servant.” He held your gaze, studying your face before adding. “If you will, I’ll find the lady a more suitable partner for the next dance.”

        You felt a stab of disappointment but nonetheless nodded your head in understanding, watching as he walked away. But you didn’t understand the situation at all. This man in front of you had all the charms worthy of a gentleman and if they knew, you were absolutely sure they would excuse such misconduct. _For God’s sake he was more entertaining than those bland toads!_

        You stood up and nearly ran to catch up with the retreating man, determined to know his name.

        “Excuse me, sir!”

        “Sir!”

        “SIR!” you all but screamed.

        Finally, the man stopped, and turned around, his strange eyes giving you a curious look. _‘I swear if he heard me all along and just ignored me…’_ “M-May I ask your name, sir?” you asked, panting slightly from your brisk walk.

        He blinked, staring at your [e/c] eyes. You held his gaze calmly, making sure to stand up straighter. “Well?” You cocked a brow, crossing your arms impatiently. “Are you going to tell me your name sir?”

        Slowly, his lips curled into a smile and he bowed, his eyes never leaving your face. “Of course, I apologize. I am Sebastian Michaelis, milady. The butler of the Phantomhive household,” he murmured. You smiled and lowered yourself to a curtsy.

        “[Y/N] Aston. Baroness Aston. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Michaelis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Quadrille- a square dance performed typically by four couples and containing five figures, each of which is a complete dance in itself.
> 
> [2] Écossaise- an energetic country dance in duple time in which couples form lines facing each other.


	3. Chapter Two

        If things had gone on considerably normal you might have forgotten ever meeting the strange-eyed butler. After all, it was not the first time you have ever met the servants of some noble household, much less a household with an _attractive_ servant who happens to be in your age group and of your taste. So why the deuce [1] this bloody man plagued your mind was beyond you. From reading in the mansion library, to talking to your husband, to even just pouring yourself a damn cup of tea, the man clung to your mind like a brat screeching at his mother to notice him. Yes, it was that bad. And the situation you were in wasn’t helpful at all.

        “Can you remind me again on _how_ we ended up going back to the Phantomhive manor?” you grumbled and leaned back, letting your head hit the coach wall with a dull _thud_.

        “I thought I already told you mother,” Dottie said impatiently. “The earl is Lizzie’s fiancé—which I am sure you already know—and we happen to meet at his ball. _That_ is how we ended up going back to the Phantomhive manor.”

        “I don’t see how meeting him became receiving an invitation for lunch,” you mumbled, craning your neck to look at your daughter better. “You didn’t do anything that would earn his ire did you?” you asked, making the girl splutter.

        “N-no I did not!” the brunette protested.

        You scoffed and arched an eyebrow in reply.

        “I really didn’t!” she continued to protest as you only stared at the slowly blushing girl, brow arched and a doubtful look in your eyes. You knew her well enough and you knew that besides appearances, your similarity with your daughter ended there. That girl was a clumsy dancer with an open, honest mouth. You continued staring at the girl. For a few seconds she stared back before finally cracking.

        “Imayhavesteppedonhisfootoncewhileweweredancingthecoitillion,” she said in a rush.

        “Begging your pardon but did you say you were doing a jig during the cotillion[2]?” you asked, your tone sarcastic. “Speak clearly Dorothy or else I’ll make another ridiculous tale.”

        “I may have stepped on his foot once while we were dancing the cotillion,” she admitted and her cheeks gradually turned from pink to red. “Perhaps twice… or maybe more than that b-but!” she cut off hastily. “That has nothing to do with the invitation today. I am quite sure of that.”

        “You hope it won’t have anything to do with that,” you mumbled under your breath. A sigh escaped your lips and you resisted the urge to rub your eyes. You’ve been feeling restless for days now, a cursed feeling that left you with heavy eyelids and subtle black rings under your eyes which, fortunately, you were able to cover with powder. Last night was the first proper sleep you’ve had for days and you would’ve stayed in bed much longer. Except for the fact that your youngest child and only daughter was going to have lunch with an engaged male. Alone. With only the servants for a chaperone.

        Your husband would rather eat raw kidney that let Dottie go unsupervised.

        You let your head hit the wall once more.

*****

        “Mother, mother we’re here!” Dottie squealed, lurching forward in her seat.

        “Dottie, Dottie I can see!” You mimicked and, despite your cool demeanor, you were secretly delighted. You found yourself leaning forward, your eyes trained on the window as you waited impatiently for the coach to draw closer to the large Elizabethan manor. By the time the coach came to a stop, Dottie was half out of her seat, staring at the door.

        Rolling your eyes, you were about to scold your daughter before the coach door opened, revealing a rather familiar man. Your breath hitched, the beating organ in your chest momentarily stopping in its rhythm as your eyes widened and, to your shame, a burning sensation ran up your cheeks. Thankfully, Dottie didn’t notice and instead shyly accepted the butler’s offered hand.

        “Lady Dorothy Aston,” the raven haired greeted as he helped the brunette down. “My name is Sebastian Michaelis, the Phantomhive butler. The young master has been expecting you.”

        Dottie smiled, head bowed. “I hope he hasn’t been waiting too long, though I doubt we were tardy, were we mother?” She asked and you watched as the butler’s gaze drifted to you. You had a sneaking suspicion that the man had entirely missed you when he was looking into the coach.

        “Mother?” he repeated softly, his strange eyes piercing yours. The tone sent your back tingling and you fought down your growing blush. _‘Lord this is shameful,’_ you internally moaned, _‘Damn it all [Y/N] gather your composure.’_ Sucking in a breath, you rested your hand on his and gently eased yourself out.

        “Yes, I’m Dottie’s mother,” you stated and forced an indifferent look, “I believe we met at the earl’s ball… four days ago, Mr. Michaelis?”

        “Ah yes, it’s a pleasure to be reacquainted with you, Baroness Aston,” Sebastian replied, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Stiffening, it took you a moment for you to realize why the man seemed amused. Your mind flashed back to the ball, where you had practically demanded for the raven haired to tell you his name, and felt your cheeks flush.

        “And where is Earl Phantomhive, if I may inquire?” you snapped, flinching at your tone. Dottie cast a confused glance your way but remained silent while you looked at the butler for any signs of disapproval. There were none.

        “The young master is currently in his study finishing off some paperwork,” Sebastian answered and with one quick motion opened the large doors in front of you. “He sends his apologies and regrets not being able to greet you at the entrance.”

 _‘Likely,’_ you thought dryly as you stepped in, removing your bonnet. You’ve never met the earl yourself but from rumors that circulated, you were sure he wasn’t a warm fellow. Dottie on the other hand seemed to disagree.

        “Is it related to the Funtom Corporation?” your daughter asked.

        Sebastian smiled and you felt your lips twitch. “Yes, you see the young master is planning a line of products for the purposes of his female customers,” he shared and Dottie hastened to respond.

        “A line of products for females? Perfumes and such?”

        The raven haired nodded and you noted how his black locks fell slightly above his eyes, once more reminding you how rakish his appearance was. “Yes, the young master is quite determined to expand the domain of products Funtom sells.”

        Deciding to cut in before your daughter pulled forth another reply, you turned to face the butler. “Will we be waiting in one of the drawing rooms or…?” You let your voice trail and looked at him expectantly.

        You watched as a flash of amusement cross his face, making you glower at his direction. “If it isn’t a bother to the Baroness and her daughter, the young master would prefer for you to wait in the dining room. The two of you may begin the entrée without him, if you two so wish,” Sebastian informed, still wearing that damnable half smile, half smirk.

        “The dining room then, Mr. Michaelis but we won’t start the entrée,” you stated curtly. _‘Cheeky man,’_ you fumed. _‘I take back anything I’ve ever thought of you, you prat.’_

        The male smiled, as if he were expected that response all along, and discreetly started steering you two away. “If that is what the lady wishes and if yo—”

        “That is what the lady wishes, Mr. Michaelis,” you interrupted, staring ahead. You could practically sense the incredulous look your daughter wore but didn’t turn around to glance. You were bordering on rudeness but didn’t care. You were sure the man could discern that.

        To your displeasure, the butler only released a small chuckle and responded, “Of course, milady but please, do call me Sebastian.”

        Scowling, you opened your mouth to retort but no words came forth. A rhythmic beat pounded in your ears and you could feel yourself getting warmer and warmer. Pursing your lips, you gave a slight nod, still avoiding looking at the butler. “Very well… Sebastian. Now please, lead us to the dining room.”

*****

        You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting from the earl but if you were expecting a child’s preparation you were shamefully proven wrong. Earl Phantomhive was an adult in every aspect except for his appearance. Cool, polite, and charming, he started conversations that engaged the whole table and flattered without flirting. You were impressed. This boy knew the upper class game and was playing it brilliantly. It was a wonder why he didn’t apply those skills more.

        You placed down your fork with a content sigh, a motion that quickly caught your host’s attention.

        “Is everything fine, Baroness Aston?” Phantomhive asked, his brows furrowed. At the mention of your name, Dottie, who was next to you, looked up from her plate and cocked a brow questioningly.

        “Oh it’s nothing Earl Phantomhive,” you assured, curling your lips into a smile. “Lunch was wonderful, that’s all.”

        The earl’s shoulders relaxed and he returned your smile easily. “Thank you. Perhaps the Baron may join us on the table next time.” The suggestion was vague but you understood it perfectly.

        “Yes, that would be nice.”

        “You plan on inviting us again?” Dottie asked and you internally sighed. Your daughter, oblivious as usual.

        “No Dottie, but we will be seeing him again,” you corrected. Pushing away a strand of hair, you smiled once more and clapped your hands.         “Please Earl Phantomhive, let us invite you to our mansion[3]. It’s the least we could do for inviting us, especially me for arriving unannounced.”

        The earl looked at you quietly while you continued to smile, staring back. You weren’t backing down with this one and you’d be damned if you’ll let yourself crack by a gaze of a child. After a few seconds, a faint smile slowly made its way up his lips and he sighed. “Very well, Baroness. I accept your invitation.”

        Hiding your triumph, you let your smile widen before letting it fall back into a thin line. “I’m glad. I’ll inform Baron Aston[4] immediately after this.”

        “Surely you don’t plan on leaving at once, Baroness?” Phantomhive questioned.

        Your eyes widened and you scrambled to get a response. “I—”

        “We can stay for a few minutes, don’t you think Mother?” Dottie cut off and you glared at her. The thirteen year old only gave you a pleading look, pouting slightly. “We can, can’t we? After all it won’t do to leave with a heavy stomach.”

        You pressed your lips, raising an eyebrow. “All right, you do have a point,” you said flatly. You watched her lips turn upwards and you narrowed your eyes. This girl has an agenda, you can tell that much.

        “I have a drawing room prepared for your leisure,” Phantomhive informed, reminding you that the black haired boy was still there. “My butler had it prepared just in case you would rather not wait in the dining room earlier.”

        “Splendid,” you muttered under your breath. You cleared your throat and said much louder. “Though if you will, I think I’d rather take a stroll.”

        The earl’s visible eye blinked before he shrugged and nodded. “That can be arranged. My butler will be accompanying you though since you are unfamiliar with the grounds,” he stated and you felt your stomach churn. Was it annoyance or...

        You shook your head, mentally slapping yourself. Of course it’s annoyance.

        “Ah… you are truly considerate Earl Phantomhive,” you thanked, smiling. _‘Though not all considerations are favorable.’_ The thought ran through your mind making you give a slight snort. The things that go through your head…

        “Baroness?”

        You gave a start, letting out a small shriek. Through the rapid panicking of your heart you could hear faint chuckling and you scowled. Clicking your tongue, you arched a brow and turned to look at the culprit.

        “The next time you scare me butler, be polite enough to have a doctor right next to you,” you hissed. “I’ll die of a heart attack if you keep it up.”

        Sebastian only smirked, making your scowl deepen. _‘Bloody infuriating man. Damn arrogant swine—’_ “I apologize, milady,” he stated, momentarily interrupting you from your train of curses. His crimson eyes gleamed and he gave a slight bow. _‘Will this man stop with his blasted bowing?! He might as well kneel down and kiss the floor! Though it won’t be nice to have his lips tainted with dirt… Oh bloody hell [Y/N]!’_

        “—if it is all right with the Baroness?”

        You blinked and stared up at the man, your head screeching into a halt. What was he saying? You internally grimaced and scolded yourself. Pay attention [Y/N]. Frowning, you tried to guess what he just said. _“If it is all right with the Baroness?”_ Permission then.

        “Fine, butler,” you sighed, glancing at him indifferently. “But do make it quick.”

        He smiled and bowed once more, this time though much lower. “Thank you Baroness. In exchange, I shall accompany you to the gardens. The cool outside would be befitting for a stroll.” You raised an eyebrow and tried to fight down a smile. A garden? That… that was nice. Jacob had often given you so many flowers that they quickly were a source of comfort.

        “I said quickly Sebastian,” you stated and turned back to face your plate, “So… please don’t dawdle,” you said quietly.

        You felt, more than heard, him retreat and you released a sigh. That man was… strange. And bad for you. What else could you call a man who made you act like you were a mindless chit? Dottie shifted in her seat and leaned in to whisper.

        “What a curious man, don’t you think so, mother?”

        “Sebastian?” At her nod, you lifted your eyes, allowing your gaze to drift towards the butler. He was bent over low as Phantomhive was saying something in his ear, his black hair obscuring his strange eyes. After a few seconds, he straightened up and you immediately looked down. Your body felt hot despite the cool temperature and you fingertips ached for God knows what. Sighing, you picked up your glass and once more gazed at the butler. “That’s putting it simply, Dottie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Deuce- euphemism for devil.
> 
> [2] Cotillion- a social dance, popular in 18th-century Europe and America.
> 
> [3] It was common courtesy to return invitations. For example, if Lord Yaxley invited Earl Grey for dinner, it is expected for Earl Grey to return the invitation on his next dinner party.
> 
> [4] Couples often referred to each other by their last names or titles. Examples are Mr. and Mrs. Bennett from Pride and Prejudice.


	4. Chapter Three

        The request which you had so wholeheartedly turned a deaf ear to was in fact a rather simple one. Wait for me.

        You wouldn’t have agreed if that was the request.

        Sighing, you glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece once more, trying to guess how long the butler was gone. Was it ten, fifteen minutes ever

        The request which you had so wholeheartedly turned a deaf ear to was in fact a rather simple one. Wait for me.

        You wouldn’t have agreed if that was the request.

        Sighing, you glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece once more, trying to guess how long the butler was gone. Was it ten, fifteen minutes ever since you entered the drawing room? Time passes by in so many speeds that you can’t tell whether it was going fast or slow.

        Either way, you were getting impatient.

        In the background, you could hear the earl chatting with Dottie, making you scowl slightly. It wasn’t like their presence annoyed you but it did a splendid job of reminding you that you were suppose to be someplace else. _‘Blasted butler,’_ you internally grumbled. _‘I should’ve just took a stroll on my own, it’s not like I would get lost.’_

        “Mother,” Dottie called, interrupting your thoughts. “Mother, where did father say his ship lines go to?”

        You raised an eyebrow at the question but nonetheless replied. “Europe, China and America usually. Though recently, your father’s ships has also ventured to Africa.” You gave her a quizzical look. “Why do you ask?”

        Before Dottie could reply, Phantomhive cut in, turning in his seat to look at you. “The White Horizon Line Company, correct?”

        You nodded. “Yes that’s the one.”

        “I’m surprised, the Baron is pursuing a rather big business,” Phantomhive commented.

        Scoffing, you shot back, “Can’t the same be said to you, Earl Phantomhive? Your Funtom Company is a rather large one itself. Though,” you added as afterthought. “I believe the company is more of a hobby of his.”

        “Hobby…” Phantomhive echoed and you watched as a faint smirk curled up his lips. “Yes… for nobles, businesses are hobbies. But it’s a rather fruitful hobby, don’t you think?”

        You blinked, staring at the earl. The statement unsettled you and it took you a few seconds to respond. “Yes… well of course,” you replied slowly. “After all, Baron Aston’s ship company specializes in the transportation of goods.”

        He nodded. “And the routes are good, _very_ good. Was the Baron the one who planned it all?”

        “Yes...” To your ears your voice came out shaky and quickly you cleared your throat. “Yes,” you repeated, this time much firmer. “He planned it—” A knock cut you off from your statement causing the young lord to give an annoyed huff.

        “Enter,” he snapped.

        Swiftly, the door swung open and Sebastian stepped in, apologizing. “Excuse me for my interruption my lord but—”

        “Yes, yes we know,” Phantomhive interrupted. “Baroness, do you still wish to continue your walk?”

        You hummed in reply, gazing at the butler quietly. The irritation you felt towards him had somehow mellowed down and instead was replaced with a vague sense of wanting to chuck your shoe at him. Still, despite that you were tempted to say no, just to spite him a little.

 _‘Should I or should I not...’_ you mused, tapping your fingers. After playing with the idea for a few seconds, you released a sigh and nodded.

        “Yes, I would still like to continue my walk, Earl Phantomhive,” you said and stood up.

        The boy nodded while Sebastian flashed a smile your way. Ignoring all of this, you strode towards door instead and muttered a low “hurry up” to the butler as you passed by. You heard him snicker—an action that made you roll your eyes— before steady footsteps followed behind you. After he closed the drawing room door, you turned towards him, arms crossed and a vexed expression on your face.

        “Well, now that we’re out here would you mind telling me _what on earth took you so long_?!”

        You heard a chuckle from the black clad man and he glanced at you, his lips quirked in amusement. “But milady, I thought I already told you that I’d be a bit delayed.”

        You blushed, your mind scrambling for a reply. “Yes well, you didn’t tell me it would take you that long,” you retorted.

        The butler only laughed louder, causing your cheeks to burn. _‘Damn that man,’_ you grumbled. Huffing, you started walking, making sure to quicken your pace. Unfortunately for you, Sebastian swiftly matched your pace and once more your ears were invaded with the sound of his footsteps following you.

        “Ah, have I offended you, milady?” Sebastian asked and you detected a small teasing note in his sentence.

        “Reusing old sentences aren’t you Sebastian?” you commented dryly.

        He hummed before answering, “Yes, well there are some sentences which are best said plainly. For example, ‘The cake is burnt’ or ‘You have an appointment next Saturday.’ or perhaps ‘Baroness I believe you weren’t exactly listening to me when I said I was going to be tardy.’”

        A strangled gasp escaped your throat and you whipped your head back, staring at him wide-eyed. _‘W-what?’_ your mind spluttered. _‘Preposterous, ridiculous, silly—’_ Sebastian smirked, regarding your shocked gaze with an amused expression.

        “Baroness?”

        “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about!” you exclaimed, cringing at your slight stutter. “Honestly butler, are you ridiculing me? Of course I was listening! What kind of—”

        “Baroness, I was simply teasing.”

        “—absolutely insolent question. I… Begging your pardon?” You halted mid-rant, mouth agape as the statement ran through your head. _‘Baroness, I was simply teasing. Baroness, I was simply teasing. I was simply teasing. Simply teasing.’_

        “WHAT?!” you shrieked. Your voice pierced through the quiet hall making the man wince.

        “Please do not shriek, milady,” Sebastian soothed, gently grabbing your upper arm. Still, you could plainly see the mirth dancing in his eyes and the growing upward curve of his lips that adorned his face. It didn’t take a genius to know he found the whole situation amusing but despite the infuriating moment he made you go through, you still took note how attractive he looked with that smile.

        Groaning, you threw your hands in the air. You wanted to stomp your feet but managed to refrain yourself. “Honestly butler,” you muttered. “Forcing me to act so unbecoming, you force the worst out of a woman I dare say.”

        “If you’ll allow me to be cheeky, milady,” he teased, grinning, “That’s all your doing.”

        A vibrant scarlet hue decorated your cheeks resulting to more chuckles from the black haired man. No words of protest burst from your lips and, for what could possibly be the second time that day, you were left gaping dumbly at him.

        “See?” He smirked and, to your surprise, tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. _“_ ‘So full of artless jealousy is guilt, it spills itself in fearing to be spilt.’[1],” he quoted.

        “I’m not guilty,” you defended, avoiding his gaze.

        Soft humming was his only reply and you heard a soft click. “Well, we best get going milady, the clock _is_ ticking.”

        “Yes, y-you’re right.” Giving a small shake to your head, you let the raven hair lead the way, nerves a mess and the sound of your nervous heart echoing in your ears.

*****

        “Beautiful…” you whispered, gazing around the garden in awe. The Phantomhive garden, with its luscious emerald hedges, evergreen trees, and acres of land, was a sight to behold to even your luxury accustomed eyes. But what took your breath away was the burst of roses that decorated the area. The lavender colored blossoms were scattered about, practically surrounding you with its delicate prettiness and citrus scent. The landscape overwhelmed you and you couldn’t help but release a contented sigh. It would have even been more wonderful had the sky been clear.

        “Pardon, milady?”

        “I said ‘tis beautiful,” you repeated, still somewhat dazed. Stepping closer to the rose bush, you let your hand trail against the topmost before flicking your eyes towards the butler. “What kind of roses are they?”

        “Ah, do you like them?” Sebastian inquired. Snapping off one of the blossoms, he presented it to you, smiling. “They’re silver sterling roses.”

        “Silver sterling…” you murmured. Reluctantly, you accepted the flower. “Why are there so many?”

        “The flower is a favorite of my young master,” he explained, still smiling, “There are many more flowers but the sterling roses are the most abundant.”

        “They’re absolutely lovely.” You twirled the rose in your hand, watching the petals pass by till it was nothing but a blur of lavender blossoms.

        “If you’d like, Baroness,” Sebastian began, “I could have our gardener prepare a bouquet for you.”

        You froze. “N-Nonsense,” you dismissed, scoffing slightly, “It isn’t necessary Mr. Michaelis.”

        “Sebastian.”

        You blinked. “Pardon?”

        The male stepped closer till he was practically a hand length away. Your heart stirred off its normal rhythm as he leaned in, rusty red eyes staring into your own. You felt stricken, pinned even, and your face was dusted bright pink at the proximity. Damn it all, he was being unbearably close.

        “Baroness, I insist you call me by my first name. And,” He grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to him. “I insist on the roses.” He smirked. “Courtesy of the Phantomhive household.”

        A gust of wind blew past your face, tickling your burning cheeks. The garden was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of the trees which, to your ears, seemed to mimic the sound of a whispering crowd. Your mind scrambled for a reply and after a few moments you managed to gasp out one single sentence.

        “Let me go.”

        Sebastian smiled. “Pardon?”

        “I-I said,” you stammered and swallowed, “I said let me go.”

        A heartbeat passed before the butler chuckled, releasing his hold off your hand. Without missing a second, you turned around and fled, practically tripping over your skirt as you ran. Wisps of hair fell from the bun you wore but you impatiently brushed it off. You didn’t care if you appeared unseemly or that the delaine[2] gown you wore was being flecked with dirt, you just had to get out of there.

        If you stayed one second longer you would have gone mad.

        If you stayed one second longer your knees would have collapsed.

        If you stayed one second longer you were sure you would have done something you’d regret.

        “Mother!”

        Your eyes snapped up and you saw Dottie by the back door, waving frantically. Behind her the earl stood, though you were quite sure he wasn’t waving his arm about. At her worried gaze you felt your stomach tighten but it quickly disappeared as you heard her next statement,

        “Hurry mother, the rain is about to fall!”

 _‘Rain?’_ Your feet came to a pause and you looked up. The grey sky you had observed was now dark, the rumbling black clouds casting a shadow which chased at your feet. Lightning tore through the sky followed by a clap of thunder. Around you, the wind was blowing furiously, biting and nipping at your exposed skin. Honestly, why did you only notice the growing storm now?

 _‘Maybe it’s because of a certain crimson-eyed man?’_ your mind whispered.

 _‘Oh put a sock in it,’_ you snapped.

_Drip_

        “What…” You blinked as you felt something hit you again. Before you knew it, the clouds released its tears, sending a downpour to the world below. A jacket was thrown over your head and a figure seemed to stand behind you. Before you could protest, you were abruptly led forward, the person practically half carrying, half dragging you to shelter.

        “Mother!” Dottie cried and rushed forward, “Oh thank God. Why did you idle? You would have gotten drenched! Can you imagine what father—”

        “Now Lady Dorothy, your fretting is unbecoming,” Phantomhive interrupted, cutting off the ranting brunette. “The Baroness was merely in my garden after all, not roaming around the county.”

        Dottie frowned. “I suppose…” she mumbled before turning towards you. “Thank you Mr. Michaelis for sheltering my mother,” she paused and she frowned once more, “But now you’re the one who’s drenched.”

 _‘Mr. Michaelis?’_ you thought as heat crept up your cheeks.

        A familiar velveteen voice released you from your shock. “Please don’t worry, milady. It would disgrace me to not prioritize the Baroness’s well-being before mine,” Sebastian reassured. You blushed once more.

        Phantomhive clicked his tongue and cast a disinterested eye towards you—or rather behind you. “Dry yourself up Sebastian,” the boy ordered, “And tell Mey-rin to prepare two of our guest bedrooms.”

        Dottie flashed the earl a confused look. “Bedrooms?”

        “Of course,” Phantomhive stated and gestured towards one of the windows. “The weather is at its worst and it seems as if it doesn’t plan on getting any better soon. You and the Baroness have to stay for the night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Quote from Hamlet by William Shakespeare, Act 4, Scene 5
> 
> [2] Delaine- a very high-priced fabric common in women wear.


	5. Chapter Four

_“Are you sure the two of you will be fine?”_

        “Yes, Jacob.”

_“Are you certain? I can send Mr. Rhodes over there to come and fetch you two, you know.”_

        “Jacob, it’s raining like pitchforks. Besides, the carriage will have difficulty in crossing the bridge.”

_“But not entirely possible.”_

        “Jacob!” you exclaimed. Heat flushed your cheeks and you spared a glance around the room. Even though Phantomhive had politely left you alone in his study after talking with your husband, your nerves still tingled at the thought of someone overhearing your conversation. Lowering your voice, you hissed, “Really Jacob, you’re being a bit silly right now.”

        A sigh crackled through the phone. _“I suppose. I can’t say I’m happy about the situation right now.”_ Jacob said.

        “Well aren’t you fussy today,” you noted dryly. Laughter erupted from the other line.

 _“I am, aren’t I?”_ he asked and sighed. _“Sorry, love. I’m just exhausted. Problems with the company and such.”_

        You arched a brow. “Problems?”

_“Ah it’s nothing worth discussing about; small matters. They’ll probably be solved soon.”_

        Curiosity probed at you but you decided to let it slide. “If you say so,” you relented and glanced at a nearby clock, “Its best if I get going Jacob, I still need to warm myself.”

_“Oh right, Phantomhive did mention you were in the garden when it began raining. What were you doing there anyway?”_

        In an instance, your body went rigid, your mind flashing towards what happened in the garden. The grip on the receiver tightened. “I… Sebastian was showing me the garden.”

_“Sebastian?”_

          _‘Damn,’_ you cursed. Hastily, you clarified, “Sebastian, the butler. He’s Earl Phantomhive’s butler.”

 _“Oh.”_ A pause. _“Was there anything you liked?”_

        Relief washed over you and you almost laughed at your husband’s question. Did he really just dismiss such a mistake?[1] Shaking your head, you replied, “The earl’s garden is gorgeous but I don’t think…” you paused, your voice trailing. There _might_ be something you wanted.

        Jacob chuckled. _“You do want something do you?”_ he said, amused. _“Well, what is it?”_

        Biting your lower lip, you contemplated on whether to give your request or not. It felt treacherous in a way, asking for those flowers to be planted in your garden. They would always remind you of what happened. The warmth radiating off his body as he stepped the closer, the addicting sensation of your hand enclosed in his, the intensity in his auburn colored eyes. Your breath hitched at the memory.

_“[Y/N]?”_

        You jumped. “Y-Yes?” Realizing that he was still waiting for a reply, you scrambled for an answer. “I-I’ll ponder on it more. I’m still not certain if—”

 _“All right, all right,”_ Jacob cut off, _“I’ll let you think about it. Go now, we don’t want you catching a cold now, do we?”_

        “Yes…” Clearing your throat, you added, “Goodbye, Jacob.”

_“Goodbye, darling. I send my love.”_

        With a sigh, you hung up and headed towards the door. The cold in your body was unmerciful and you were eager to seat next to a crackling fire. Reaching for the doorknob, you leaped back when the door swung open, and revealed, to your heart’s panic, the Phantomhive butler.

_‘I swear, if we meet one more time, I will go mad.’_

        “Baroness,” Sebastian greeted, “I assume your phone call to the Baron has gone well?”

         You pursed your lips, nodding slightly. “Yes, we just finished talking.”

        “That’s good to know. Lady Dorothy and the young master are currently in the parlor. I’ll be escorting the Baroness there,” the butler informed and turned around. A jolt of shock ran through your body, your mouth falling open at this terse speech. He… he _never_ talked to you like that before. Staring wide-eyed, you hardly noticed Sebastian walking away till he turned around.

        “Baroness?” He was frowning, his hand reaching for something in his breast pocket.

        You started moving.

        Silence. It was the only thing that rung in your ears, that uncomfortable silence that you’ve never experienced with him before. It spilled from each step and intake of breath, flooding the hallway with its deafening beat. You never liked the silence. Silence meant no noise and without noise, your thoughts crashed into you like a trainwreck.

        It shouldn’t bother you in the first place. Really, it shouldn’t. But your eyes kept flickering at his back and your mind urged you to speak. To talk to him. To see if he would brush you off as curtly as before.

        “Mr. Sebastian!” a female voice shrieked, breaking your stream of thoughts. Furrowing your brows, you looked up and watched as a crimson-haired woman ran down the hall, her black dress billowing behind her like a cloud. The male in front of you sighed, stopping. “What is it now, Mey-rin?”

_‘Mey-rin?’_

        ‘Mey-rin’ skidded to a halt, tripping over her feet as she stopped. Without missing a beat, Sebastian reached over and caught her, grabbing unto her waist. He clicked his tongue. “How many times have I told you not to run in the hallways? You tend to trip whenever you do so.”

        Mey-rin blushed, stammering.

        You frowned, observing the two as they talked. The proximity was unnecessary in your opinion and you didn’t miss the growing blush on the woman’s cheeks. Your jaw clenched. So, this person fancies the butler, hmm? She seemed to be a maid, judging from her attire but what in the world are those glasses she’s wearing? They look ridiculous!

        Sebastian glanced your way before turning his attention back to Mey-rin. “I’ll handle the beddings, Mey-rin. Meanwhile, kindly show the Baroness the way to the parlor,” he ordered. The maid nodded while you scowled, displeased.

        As soon as Sebastian left, Mey-rin turned around, lips turned up into a smile. “Good afternoon, Baroness! My name’s Mey-rin. If you’ll please, I’ll lead you the parlor.” Nodding stiffly, you followed the redhead, the latter chatting along the way.

        “It’s so nice for the young master to invite young company, yes it is. Though he always invites adults he rarely has anyone around his age. The closest one is Lady Elizabeth but besides that no one close to his age, no,” Mey-rin chattered. You only caught snippets of her conversation, focusing instead on her slight accent.

 _‘Is she a foreigner?’_ you wondered and inspected her a bit closer. _‘Obviously she isn’t Indian. Ugh, her silly eyeglasses hide so much of her features.’_ Grumbling, a thought crossed your mind. _‘Does he prefer foreign women?’_

        It seemed petty, but the thought plagued you now. What did this mysterious butler like? Did he prefer silence or noise? Brunettes, redheads, blondes, or raven-haired? What did he find pretty? Was there anything he particularly liked in a woman?

 _‘Was there anything he particularly liked in a woman?’_ Your stomach churned and you glanced at Mey-rin.

        “Have you been serving Earl Phantomhive long, Mey-rin?” you asked in, what you hoped to be, a friendly tone.

        “Hmm?” she murmured and nodded. “Not too long, not too long. The young master was still new when I was first hired. He even gave me these glasses,” she said tenderly. The glasses really didn’t look much but you held your tongue.

        Instead you looked around, pretending to be fascinated. “This is such a large manor, how do you and the other maids bear to clean it up?”

        “Ah, I’m the only maid, Baroness,” Mey-rin corrected, fidgeting. She blushed. “But Mr. Sebastian is kind enough to help me with most of the household tasks.”

        The statement made you frown. “Is that so?” Pursing your lips, you cocked your head sideways. “That’s awfully considerate of him.”

        She nodded so eagerly you were afraid her head might come off. “Oh yes, Mr. Sebastian is very considerate. He helps us servants with our tasks. We’re all so new and Mr. Sebastian always does his job perfectly. He’s the perfect butler.”

        You couldn’t help but agree with that. Sebastian did act like the perfect butler. In fact, he acted like… well the perfect everything. It intrigued you. Everybody has flaws. You had flaws, your husband has flaws, even the Queen, you dare say, certainly has her own flaws. But for the life of you, you couldn’t spot one single flaw in this man. It made him surreal; his presence something so dreamlike it made you feel as if you were in a daze.

        “We’re here!”

        Snapping out of your thoughts, you shot a confused glance at the maid. _‘Here…?’_ It took you a few moments but when you did you let out a small ‘oh’. Oh right, the parlor; you nearly forgot about that. You looked at the waiting door and felt your throat go dry. Suddenly desperate, you tried thinking of ways to continue the conversation. Most—correction, _none_ —of your intended questions have been asked and the answers you received weren’t worth a shilling.

        You sighed. In the end, you had more weeds to pull from a garden you never even planted.  As Mey-rin grabbed the doorknob, you tried to ask one more question.

        “Who was Sebastian’s previous master?”

        Mey-rin paused and turned to you with a small frown. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Baroness,” she answered hesitantly, “Mr. Sebastian never told us anything about his past.”

        The hope that had been building in your chest came quickly crumbling down. Nodding, you allowed the maid to announce your arrival while you reflected on Mey-rin’s last answer.

_“Mr. Sebastian never told us anything about his past.”_

_‘Well aren’t you an enigma, Sebastian?’_ you thought wryly. With a sigh, you entered the parlor.

*****

        It was the thunder that woke you from your sleep, not your dream. Blinking, you stared up at the ceiling, the tightly woven shadows turning into a canopy of darkness over your bed. Yawning, you slowly sat up, running a hand through your tangled mess of hair. Rainwater pounded against the windows while the wind whistled its tuneless song to the roaring sky. It looked like Phantomhive was right, the weather was worsening.

        Your muscles protested as you slipped out of bed. Ignoring the slippers, you looked around, trying to recall where Mey-rin put the night-jacket[2]. It was hard to see since there was so little light and the setting reminded you of your dream. Slowly, you made your way to the dresser.

        In the dream you had been running after someone, you remembered, though _who_ it was you weren’t sure. It had been dark and you had kept hearing voices calling your name. They had lingered behind you while you ran, some whispering while others had sobbed out your name in hoarse voices. Then you found yourself falling, tumbling down into darkness as the voices screamed out your name in one horrible wail.

        Your fingers brushed against something cold and you involuntarily flinched. By Jove[3], _what was that?_ Grabbing the item, you turned it over your palm, your fingers running across the side. It was round and there was something sticking out from the side. You clicked it. _‘A compact mirror,’_ you thought, mentally laughing. It was a compact mirror, yours most likely.

        Lightning flashed. For a second, the room was engulfed in light and you watched as a pair of orange eyes gleamed behind the window. You jumped, the compact slipping from your hand and down to the floor with a loud _crash._

        “Baroness?”

        Turning on your heel, you breathe a sigh of relief at the sight before you. It was Sebastian, candle holder in hand, and lips tugged down into a frown. Clicking his tongue, he closed the door and strode towards you.

        “A shattered mirror,” Sebastian noted. He glanced at you. “Now, why are you up at this hour, milady?”

        “I-I was awakened by the thunder and was looking for a night-jacket,” you stammered. Swallowing, you cast an uneasy glance at the now dark window. “I saw an owl when the lightning flashed. That’s what frightened me.”

        “An owl?” He stepped closer to the window, squinting. “Ah yes, there is an owl there. Looking directly at this room, might I add.” Stepping back, he turned to you and smirked. “A broken mirror and an owl. Shall I call the undertaker and inform him of your death?”

        “You’re horrid.” Hugging your arms, you looked at him before quickly averting your gaze. “Is the owl still there?”

        “Yes he is. I don’t believe it’ll be leaving anytime soon, Baroness,” Sebastian said and smiled. “Why? Are you frightened?”

         “Who wouldn’t be frightened if you saw something peering at your windows?”

        He grinned, setting the candle holder down. “Yes, but don’t you know there are much more frightening things to be scared off?” You shivered at his gaze. His eyes were bright, its fiery color burning deviously against the shadows of his face. Slowly, he made his back till he stood before you, his shadow nearly engulfing you.

        “Do you always let men enter your chambers so easily, Baroness?” he purred. His hand gently traced the hollow of your neck, his touch leaving a burning trail of heat down your skin. Your legs trembled, your heart pounding against your chest. It was so loud. Surely he must have heard it?

        “I’m a guest. What am I suppose to do?” you breathe. His hand grasped your chin, tilting it up so you could meet his gaze whilst his other hand caressed your back. _‘Lord, this is wrong,’_ you thought and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. _‘I have a husband, I have children._ ’ “Besides, it’s only you.”

        Sebastian chuckled, the deep baritone sending a jolt throughout your body. “Oh? You don’t consider me a threat?” His lips brushed against your ear and this time you didn’t hold back. Your moans echoed the room, your back arching as his lips left your ear and instead sucked lightly on your neck. Warmth bubbled up inside you, your mind dizzy at the sensation. All thoughts of the problems on this situation left and instead you focused on how wonderful he was making you feel.

 _‘God, he’s too good.’_ you thought, crying out when he sucked hard on your exposed cleavage. Your grip tightened on him, your nails digging harshly against his flesh. _‘This… this is how it’s suppose to feel like.’_

        You whimpered when his mouth left your skin and reluctantly you opened your eyes. Sebastian smirked, leaning in. Your heart jumped, pounding into a frenzy as his lips hovered near you. “I could be a dangerous man, Baroness,” he whispered, “A very dangerous man.”

        Shaking, you looked up at him. Your lower lip quivered, your breath hitching as his hand continued caressing your sides. Heat exploded throughout your body, a throbbing pain that was desperate for relief. There was a hunger inside you that demanded to be sated, a hunger demanded _him_.

        “Be quiet, butler,” you murmured and pressed your lips against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Servants, most especially the butler, were often referred to by their last names.
> 
> [2] Night-jacket- a piece worn at night during cooler weather. They were often fitted but loose enough for free movement while sleeping. The piece had become a symbol of status during the late Victorian era.
> 
> [3] By Jove- an old term used to express surprise. Jove is also another name of the Roman god, Jupiter.


	6. Chapter Five

 

        You awoke to kisses being pressed against your neck.

        Groaning, you tried burying your face deeper into the covers, ignoring the voice that was calling your name. You didn’t want to wake up. The bed was too soft; the air too cool, the lull of sleep too strong for you to get out of bed. A hand brushed your face and annoyed, you swatted it off. The person beside you chuckled before once more resuming his kisses.

        “Stop,” you mumbled. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to pull the blanket closer only to find it stubbornly pinned down. A sigh escaped your lips and you rolled over, curling into a fetal position.

        To your annoyance, the figure beside you continued pestering you till finally you snapped, “I said stop, didn’t I Se—”

        “Good morning, love.”

        You blinked, the heavy cloud of sleep dispersing in an instance. That wasn’t Sebastian. Propping yourself with an elbow, you sat up to look at the person next to you. Feathery brown hair, grey-blue eyes, a small scar down his neck; Jacob grinned before pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

        “Don’t you think it’s too early in the morning to be grumpy, [Y/N]?” he teased before sliding off the bed. “Well, I’m glad you’re awake. If you didn’t wake up sooner I would’ve pushed you off the bed.”

        “If you did I would’ve moved to the boudoir[1],” you murmured to yourself and looked around. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, the bedroom glowing with the light of a lazy morning. Beams of light bounced of a couple of the glass arts, reflecting its colorless brilliance back to your eyes. Faintly, you could hear snippets of conversation from outside your room before fading along with its speaker.

        This isn’t the Phantomhive mansion. Rubbing your eyes, you buried your head in your hands, mentally gathering your thoughts. This isn’t the Phantomhive mansion. Right now, you’re in your bed, in the Aston estate, with your husband and child. Not in the Phantomhive mansion. Four days have passed since that incident and you are _not_ in the Phantomhive manor.

        You swallowed. Slowly, you climbed out off your bed, your feet hitting the wooden floor with a _thud_. The room seemed to rock beneath your feet making you grab for the nearest anchor possible—which happened to be your husband.

        “[Y/N]?” An arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. “[Y/N], are you all right?”

         _‘No.’_

        “Y-Yes.” Forcing a smile, you straightened up, pushing Jacob’s arm away. “I moved too quickly that’s all.”

        “Are you certain? This is the third time these past few days,” Jacob said. He stepped closer and unconsciously, you stepped back. He frowned at this—a motion you missed—before replacing it with a smile. “Well, if you say you’re fine then I suppose you are. Though…”  Turning around, he added, “Perhaps I should inform the guests that you’re a bit unwell?”

 _‘Guests…’_ you echoed as your eyes drifted towards the door. _‘Right… there will be guests in the mansion. My family, more specifically.’_

        Jacob glanced at you, his lips curling into a frown. “[Y/N]…”

        You snapped out of your thoughts. “T-That won’t be necessary. It’s just a morning spell, that’s all,” you answered hastily. Grabbing a dressing gown, you brushed past your husband and added, “May I bathe first, Jacob? You always take such a ridiculously long tim—”  

        “[Y/N], did something happen in the Phantomhive household?”

        The question was a kick to your stomach, a wake-up call that brought you to an undesired reality. Your steps slowed till you stood before the door, your back towards him. In your ears, all you could hear was the blood pounding in your ears and the fast-paced rhythm of your heart.

_Thump, thump._

_Thump, thump._

        Jacob cleared his throat. “I know the question is odd, but hear me out, love. It’s just… ever since you and Dottie visited Earl Phantomhive, you seemed… out of it, I suppose I could say. And it’s making me wonder, that’s all.”

_Thump, thump._

_Thump, thump._

_Thump, thump._

_‘He should never know.’_ The thought slapped you from your shock. Yes, Jacob should never know. Lord, you wouldn’t bear it if he knew. The shock in his face, the hurt, the conversation—no, the _fight_ —that would ensue. A fight your children and servants would hear, a fight that would go out into the streets and in the houses until everyone, everyone would have heard about it. Heard about how Baroness [Y/N] Aston had been unfaithful to her husband.

        You winced. The aftermath of such a confession was not a storm you were willing to meet, nor do you plan on brewing it.

        “[Y/N]?” Jacob asked meekly. “[Y/N], please reply. I understand if you’re offended, it does sound a tad insulting but—”

        “Offended?” A laugh fell from your lips and you turned around, smiling. “What’s there to be offended about?” Seeing his baffled face, you let out another laugh. “Why would I be offended? I… I understand.”

        “You do?” Jacob repeated. Relief flooded his features as his broad shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad. I was afraid you were upset.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the already messy hair, before giving you an expectant look. “Well? Did something happen?”

        You looked at him, Jacob Aston, your betrothed, husband, lord, and provider. The first time you had met him, he had been a stiff and awkward mess, avoiding your eyes as if the person sitting beside him was the gorgon Medusa, and not the woman he had been set up with. His behavior had miffed you, so you had returned his avoidance with stony silence. It was only when he was leaving, and had sent a crooked smile your way, did you think this marriage might work.

_‘Jacob, I don’t want you to know.’_

        Finally, you answered, “Nothing, Jacob, nothing happened except for dinner and the rain.”

        He stared at you for a moment, his forehead creased. Then, before you could blink, you found yourself in a crushing embrace, his arms encircling your waist as his chin rested on top of your head. A soft gasp escaped your lips. For a few moments, the two of you stayed there, Jacob swaying you gently while you stood there, waiting for him to speak.

        “Okay,” Jacob murmured. He pulled away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If that’s what you say, then okay.”

        Relief hit you. “I’m glad.”

        He smiled—that crooked smile he had given you when you first met—and leaned in. Your back stiffened but you forced yourself stay still. It made you wonder why your skin crawled as his lips met yours, and why, out of all the times, it made you long for Sebastian.

*****

        Family gatherings were only pleasant when paired with alcohol. Grabbing your glass, you took long sips, recoiling a bit at the cold temperature. To the devil with novelty, who in the world adds ice to alcohol? Still, you gulped it down, relishing the sweet taste of sherry and other berries your father added to the drink.[2] As a lady, you were used to drinking alcoholic beverages so it would take a lot more to knock you down. _‘Though,’_ you thought wryly, _‘I might need it.’_

        It wasn’t as if you detest your family, no far from it. Your parents had been nothing but caring and while you and your siblings often clashed, it was never too big to gain a grudge over. It was just…

        “Dottie dear, look at you! Such a young lady. You’re getting well- endowed, aren’t you?”

        “Looks like Alec isn’t arriving, isn’t he? Pity, pity. I would have loved to see another handsome face in this house.”

        “They’re all growing up so fast. Are you _sure_ you don’t want another child, [Y/N]?”

        … _they paid too much attention_.

        “ _Yes_ , mother,” you hissed. Pink spots blotted your cheeks while beside you, your husband snickered behind his hand. Rolling your eyes, you jabbed him with your elbow, earning a small _oomph_. Your mother cooed.

        “You two are adorable.”

        “ _Mother_!”

        “Don’t raise your voice at me, [Y/N]. I’m merely saying—”

        “Mother, its emba—”

        Chuckling, Jacob threw an around your shoulder, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Now [Y/N], mother does have a point, doesn’t she? We _are_ adorable.”

        A blank stare. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled and took a swig. The brunette only laughed before chatting animatedly with his in-laws. Shaking your head, you leaned forward, snatching the sherry bottle. The bottle felt light and you sighed when you saw that it was three-quarter finished. _‘Amazing. This is the third bottle in one hour.’_

        “…the two stayed in Earl Phantomhive’s manor.”

        “Earl Phantomhive?” your sister spluttered. “As in Earl _Ciel_ Phantomhive?”

        Jacob nodded. “Yes, I’m grateful that the earl was kind enough to give them shelter.”

        This time, it was your brother answered. “Of course he would,” he scoffed. “It wouldn’t be a pretty image if he didn’t, now won’t it?”

        “He’s clever for such a young boy,” his wife remarked. “He plays the game of etiquette very well from what I’ve heard.”

        To your surprise, you found yourself snapping, “Well maybe he has courtesy.”

        She stilled, staring at you, before letting out a small laugh. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”

        Narrowing your eyes, you placed your hands on your lap, hoping she wouldn’t see them clenched. “You’re holding a lot of intrigue over such a little boy.”

        “Why shouldn’t I? The Phantomhives are famous, or should I say _infamous_ ,” she drawled. A smirk crawled up her lips and her eyes glinted with amusement. Lord, you never had much of an opinion on your sister-in-law but now you absolutely despised her.

        “Now, now, why not we just stop the topic? It isn’t nice to gossip,” your brother interrupted, placing a hand on your shoulder.

        You glared at your brother, shrugging his hand off. “No, no. I believe I want to hear more.” Turning toward your sister-in-law, you asked, “Infamous? Now why would the Phantomhives be infamous?”

        “You don’t know?” she said, surprised.

        An eye-roll. “Would I have bothered asking if I knew?”

        “But surely you must have heard rumors about him,” she hissed. Her voice had become low and around you, you could see the others listening intently in on the conversation. “There are rumors, rumors that the Phantomhives are the Queen’s Watchdog.”

        “The Queen’s Watchdog...” you murmured. Oh yes, you have definitely heard about that. The Queen’s Watchdog, the overseer of Great Britain’s underworld and Her Majesty’s eye beyond her gilded palace. It was such an infamous title that its name was a hushed rumor, passed between the lips of crooks, criminals, and aristocrats alike. But the Phantomhives?

        “It’s just a rumor,” you stated, “There’s no proof.”

        “Well, you can’t stop the people from wondering, can you?” your sister-in-law retorted. “They’re such a reclusive household that people weave tales about them.”

        “They hold charity events!”

        “Anyone can be charitable, [Y/N].” Placing her hands on her lap, she gave you a stern look. “Goodness can easily be faked. But what does charity reveal about a person, much less a household?”

        No words left your lips, and instead, you found yourself staring at her in shock. Her statement had struck you in the face as the sentence repeated itself over your head. Words of wisdom. Maybe you despised your sister-in-law because she knew so much more than you.

        “Stop.”

        A jolt ran through your body. Looking to your side, you saw Jacob, lips pursed, arms crossed, and his back tense. The attention in the room shifted as your relatives fixed your eyes on the new person to join the fray.

        Frowning, he said, “I don’t tolerate speaking ill of someone who had just recently done my family kindness. Yes, it may because he had no choice but I’m still grateful that he treated [Y/N] and Dottie very well. So if you please,” His gaze turned towards your in-law, who was looking at him attentively, “I would like to stop this conversation.”

        She nodded. “Of course, forgive me for being rude. I did not mean to speak ill. It’s just…” She smiled, her gaze switching towards you. You felt unnerved by her smile, the hairs on your neck tingling. “I can’t help but be surprised. _The_ Earl Phantomhive, inviting your family to his ball and, a week later, Dottie and [Y/N] for lunch? It looks like the Aston household has caught Phantomhive’s interest, now hasn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Boudoir- is a woman's private sitting room or salon in a furnished accommodation usually between the dining room and the bedroom, but can also refer to a woman's private bedroom. Its rare for couples to sleep together thus the boudoir.
> 
> [2] The drink you are drinking here is a mixed drink called Sherry Cobble, an "American novelty". Charles Dickens was the first one to write about the mixed drinks America made during that period.  
> If you want to know how its made, you can check the procedure [ here. ](http://savoystomp.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/Cobbler-1.jpg)


	7. Chapter Six

        “Jacob, for the last time I don’t give a crown’s worth of care on what wine we should have. Just tell the chef to choose anything she wants!” you snapped. Huffing, you turned on your heel and once more resumed rummaging around your desk. Behind you, you could hear Jacob growl.

        “Fine! I’ll tell the Mrs. McLaughin to choose anything she wants. You don’t have to be so snappish.”

        “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t give a care?!”

        “‘I don’t give a care’, she says,” Jacob grumbled. Your ears perked at his tone. “‘Tell the chef to choose anything she wants’ she says. Then she starts whining my ear off with the bloody wine choice. I gave her a choice now, didn’t I?”

        You turned to glare. “What was that now?”

        Jacob scowled, crossing his arms. “What was what?” he shot back. Heat rushed up your cheeks and you clenched your fists. Lord, this was what you hated you about him. He was such a sharp-tongued blighter[1] to deal with when angry.

        “Oh nevermind,” you muttered. Returning your attention to your desk, you added in a much louder voice, “I have no patience to deal with a child right now.”

        “A child?! I believe you should—” Jacob stopped, breathing deeply. “Yes, you’re right. Nevermind. I too, have no patience for this argument today.”

        “Why not continue your sentence?”

        “I said I have no patience for this argument,” he snapped. The familiar sound of a door creaking reached your ears. “I’ll be in my study if you need me.”

        “Why don’t you finish that sentence you were so keen on fi—”

_SLAM_

        A laugh burst from your lips. Well, that got the message across. With a sigh, you sunk unto your seat, the bubbling rage brewing from earlier simmering into a faint annoyance. Ugh, the servants must’ve heard that argument. Unintentionally as it was, Jacob always has a tendency to raise his voice whenever angered, and you were sure your voice was also above its normal range. You buried your face in your arms.

        How bothersome.

        After a few minutes of sulking, you peeked from your hiding spot, your eyes landing on the open journal in the process. You had been looking for another inkwell when your husband had come in, making you shove the book back in an attempt to hide it. Now, the pages were crinkled.

 _‘Terrific,’_ you thought. You pressed on the pages. _‘It’ll be a miracle if I straighten this out without getting any creases.’_ Clicking your tongue, you brought the journal closer and reread the last page.

_tore the linens. Honestly, this is the seventh time she had ruined something. It’s so bothersome. Jacob keeps telling me to be patient with her. Ha. He’s not the one who found their embroidered kerchief torn. Really now, it was the most decent embroidery I’ve ever made!_

 

_11 th of September 1889 - Wednesday_

_I think my parents gave Jacob an idea. How troublesome. Ever since the last family dinner he’s been getting awfully affectionate whenever we go to bed. It’s annoying. No, not annoying. I don’t want it. I don’t want his affection, I don’t want his kisses, I don’t want him to touch me. Whenever he does I feel like my skin is about to crawl off. It feels so lacking. This is just awful isn’t it? What kind of wife rejects her husband’s attention? I’ve told Jacob I didn’t want to, and he stopped, but he still keeps trying the following night. I want him to stop. I sincerely want him to stop. I don’t think I can handle of unsatisfactory it will leave me if we do it. It won’t be like anything that happened back_

        The knock shattered your focus. “Mother?”

        Blinking, you looked at the door. “Dottie?”

        “Yes mummy, it’s me.”

        “Enter.” You closed the journal and watched as Dottie walked in, the maroon gown she wore trailing behind her. The gown looked awfully good on her, emphasizing the growing curve of her hips, and her delicate pretty face. She was becoming a beautiful lady.

 _‘It’s a shame though she hasn’t grown there,’_ you thought, eyeing her bust area. _‘It’s starting to look like a brick wall.’_

        “Mother?”

        “Mhmm?” you replied. Raising an eyebrow, you looked at her. Her face was set, thin lips drawn into a line. “Yes?”

        Dottie breathed in and said in a rush, “Didyouandfatherhaveafight?”

        You gave her a blank stare. “Would you mind repeating that?”

        The girl looked away. She was wringing her hands, a habit you’ve come to recognize. “Did you and father… were you and father arguing again?”

        The question took you by surprise. While Dottie was definitely a bold little girl, you learned that in regards to familiar issues, she was a passive and meek child. So hearing her ask this… Pursing your lips, you motioned for Dottie to sit.

        “Did you hear us?” you asked.

        Flushing, Dottie gave a tentative nod. “Yes… yes, I did,” she replied. She twisted her hands a bit further. “Well, perhaps. There was… I could hear something but I didn’t think much about it. But then I saw father and he looked upset so I thought…” Her voice trailed and she clasped her hands. White-hot embarrassment seared through you, causing you to stay silent.

        Dottie mumbled something.

        “What was that?” Snapping your head up, you looked at your daughter, who shook her head.

        “Ah n-no. Nevermind it,” she answered hastily. Your lips turned down into a frown.

        “It certainly should be minded.”

        “No! No really, it isn’t that—”

        “Dottie…” Irritation poked at you.

        “Really mother. Its no—”

        “Dorothy, I demand you finish your sentence,” you snapped. God, you didn’t have for this kind of pretentiousness. Scowling, you crossed your arms and gave her an exasperated look. “Really, don’t act as if you’re walking past a lion’s den. Just tell me.”

The girl had sunk unto her seat at your scolding and her eyes were averted to anywhere but you. Seconds ticked by. After what seemed like years, you let out a small sigh.

        “Fine. Continue on that act,” you murmured. Standing up, you picked up your journal and walked towards the door.  “But continue it with your father. I have other things to focus on.”

        In an instance, Dottie’s hand shot forward, clutching at your arm. Her hand shook and you could hear her gulping in bits of air. To your surprise, she was sniffling.

        “Dottie—”

        “Mother… everything is all right, isn’t it?” Her voice trembled and she stuttered at most of the words she spoke. When she looked up, tears were pooling her eyes.

        “What I mean is, everything’s is fine, right? N-Nothing is going to happen because it’s only… because fighting is normal and it should be expected and it doesn’t mean anything. It’s okay for mother and father because they always smile together afterwards, right? You and father always reconcile, right? Nothing is going to happen. Some… n-nothing is going to happen.” She choked, letting out hacking coughs and you pulled the sobbing girl into your arms. Dottie continued crying.

        “Shh,” you whispered. Kneeling, you shifted your hold so that her face nestled at the crook of your neck. “Dorothy, Dorothy, Dottie dear. Don’t you think you’re overthinking?’

        “I know!” she wailed. “I know I’m over…over… being melodramatic.”

        Smiling, you started to smooth her hair. “You shouldn’t think so negatively. Grim thoughts are poison to the heart, and food for defeat. Besides, you know this isn’t the first your father and I argued.”

        “I know.” Her tears turned into sniffles as she pressed her face against your neck. “I know. But mother, you two are fighting too much. This is the fourth time this week. It’s scaring me.”

        The last sentence made you freeze, your hand pausing. Was it really your fourth fight? Heat burned your cheeks. _Fourth fight?_ It hadn’t come to your mind how much you and your husband had been fighting. They just flew over your head—the clenched fists, the rising voices, and the biting retorts. You never counted them. Who had time to mark down each time they screamed at their spouse? Past arguments were like corpses that murderer’s desperately wanted to bury. Once buried it will be forgotten, leave it open and trouble will stalk your miserable soul.

        You swallowed. “I’m… I’m sorry you had to keep a record of the times your father and I fought,” you began. “We… I never thought you would pay attention to it so much.” A chuckle. “How embarrassing isn’t it? For parents to let their child hear them scream at each other as if they weren’t in love.”

        “It isn’t horrible…” Dottie mumbled. “Upsetting, yes, but horrible I don’t think so.”

        “Oh?”

        Dottie nodded slightly. “Because… I think it’s better to know that things aren’t fine. At least then we won’t be left oblivious to how it all started. I would rather know that the two of you are upset than to not know you and father are angry. But of course, it’s still frightening whenever you two argue.”

        Your lips twitched. “Well, I suppose that’s given.” Releasing a groan, you pushed yourself to a standing position, a few joints popping in the process. You tried to give a comforting smile. “I’m really sorry we upset you, Dottie.”

        The young girl shook her head and returned the smile, albeit a more watery version. “No... I’m sorry, mother. I shouldn’t have made such a fuss over it. It’s so petty.”

        “No, it isn’t petty,” you assured, waving a hand. “There’s nothing petty about this. I admit, I haven’t been in the best of moods these past days.”

        Dottie opened her mouth only to clamp it shut.

        An arched brow. “Well?”

        “I…” she protested before sighing. “That’s true.”

        Smiling slightly, you patted the girl on her head. “See? You can confide in me. I’ll always listen to you.”

        Dottie rubbed at her eyes, tear-stained cheeks flushing pink. “I know, mother. Alec says the same thing.”

        “Of course he does. He’s sensible,” you teased. Alec—fully named as Alexander Gerard Aston—was your oldest child and only son. He was a source of great pride for you and your husband, and you loved every bit of him. It dismayed you though that you two had to send him to Weston College but the knowledge that Weston College[2] provided the best education comforted you. Now he was seventeen and in his fifth year.

        She sniffled. “What’s that suppose to mean, mother?”

        “Nothing,” you said and laughed. “So you’ve been writing to your brother then?”

        “I always write to brother, even when he snaps at me to stop because he can’t keep answering my letters every few weeks.”

        “Well, your brother is busy,” you told her.

        “I’ll still keep bothering him.”

        A sigh. “You’re a lost cause, Dottie.”

        Dottie shot a sheepish smile. “I know, but I really miss Alec. I wish he could be here this Saturday. It’ll be great if he will be here for the dinner party.”

        “The dinner party?” All thoughts stopped at that word. Confusion swept over you as you looked at your daughter with furrowed brows. “What dinner party are you speaking of?”

        Wide-eyed, Dottie looked at you, her expression just as lost as you were. “The dinner party…” she repeated hesitantly. “The dinner party father said he was holding.”

 _‘Jacob,’_ you thought, annoyed. “Your father never told me he planned to hold a dinner party.”

        Dottie started fidgeting once more, her hands wringing each other. “Well, he only mentioned it last night and father did say he was still considering it but knowing father, he will go through with it since he’s really grateful and father is very strict with courtesy and also because I think he had been wanting to talk to him for a while so he might—”

“Dottie, you’re rambling.” Crossing your arms, you couldn’t help but release an exasperated sigh. Perhaps if you and your husband hadn’t fought earlier, he might have informed you of his latest plan but alas, temper got the both of you.

        “Who is he inviting? Is it Landon again?”

         She shook her head. “No, it isn’t Uncle Landon.” A smile crept up her lips, once she was clearly trying to fight down. “Father is inviting Earl Phantomhive.”

        Your body stilled. “What?”

        Dottie grinned. You barely comprehended that she was bouncing on her heels. “Father is inviting Earl Phantomhive. Ciel is father’s guest.”

        Shock slapped its brazen hand to your face worse than a bishop during confirmation[3]. The air left your lungs in a rush as you gaped at your oblivious daughter. If you could, you would’ve sunk to the floor and begged the building to swallow you whole. _‘Earl Phantomhive, Earl Phantomhive, Earl Phantomhive—'_

_'Sebastian.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Blighter is British slang used to refer to someone with contempt, irritation, or pity.
> 
> [2] Weston College is a reference to a fictional public school in the manga. While in England it is called a public school in America the correct term would be private school.
> 
> [3] Confirmation is one of the Seven Sacraments of the Catholic Church. Part of the sacrament is that you get slapped by the bishop. In modern times the slap is more gentle but apparently back then the bishop actually slaps you.


End file.
